After Midnight
by xxExtremeWaysxx
Summary: Draco offers to take Hermione to the Ministry's New Year's Eve gala. One-shot.


**Nearly a month over due, but better late than never, right?**

 **Happy New Year, loves. Hope you enjoy the fluff!**

 **xx**

* * *

Every Ministry of Magic employee had received the gold-embossed invitation; Draco's had been waiting on his desk when he arrived to work in early December.

 _You are cordially invited to this year's_

 _New Year's Eve Celebration hosted by the Ministry of Magic._

 _This year we have special guest speakers, the Golden Trio: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, to ring us into the New Year._

 _Please note, this is a black-tie event. Dress robes only._

An exasperated sigh nearly forced him to his knees as Hermione opened her invitation at the desk behind his.

"Something wrong, Granger?" he quipped, leaning back in his chair with the invitation balanced between two fingers. His signet ring flashing beneath the fluorescent lights. "Is the cardstock not to your liking? Or did the Ministry fail to consult you on the choice of font?" He paused, flipping the invitation over and gazing down at the golden scrawl. "Your name truly looks abhorrent in calligraphy."

"Sod off, Malfoy. You know I hate these sorts of things."

"What? Being exalted as a war heroine in front of the most powerful witches and wizards of Great Britain?"

She leveled him with a stare. Gods, she looked delectable today with her hair half-pinned in a knot on her head. He loved watching her unravel the scarf from her neck, then meticulously shrug the thick wool coat from her shoulders and gently place it on rack behind her chair. She unwrapped herself like a present.

"No." She dragged the word out and Draco tried to distract himself from how plump her bottom lip looked. "I _hate_ spending galleons on a dress and wasting hours on smoothing out my hair and stuffing my feet into a pair of heels just to shake hands and make toasts," she huffed, pulling off her open-fingered mittens, "when I could be eating ice cream out of the tub and reading a good book."

An adorable scowl formed between her brows as she anxiously worked a frazzled curl between her thumb and forefinger. "And don't even get me started on what it takes to find a date for these bloody events!"

Draco tensed. "That tricky, is it?" He doubted it, over half the employees in the Magical Creatures department pined after the Golden Girl, rushing to sit next to her during team meetings and quickly offering to fetch her a muffin to go with her tea. Not like it bothered Draco any, he usually beat all of them to the punch: arriving 15 minutes early to meetings to save her a seat beside him with a blueberry scone and steaming tea waiting for her.

Hermione flopped herself behind her desk and pulled open a drawer, rummaging for something out of Draco's sight. With another sigh, she yanked out a scroll of parchment and Draco watched as it unraveled nearly four feet, hovering above her desk.

He squinted through the back of the parchment, trying to make out the vague lines scrawled across the page. It looked like a list of names – he leaned forward - nearly a hundred of them and they all appeared to be male. Was that Theodore Nott's name? And that schmuck down in Magical Law Enforcement- Matthias Spear?

Draco stood and stalked over to peer above her shoulder. It was a list of men, some names had been scratched out, and most of them had little notes beside them with things like _,_ "handsome, but dull" and "intellectually stimulating, but awful halitosis."

"What is this?" His voice scratched reed-thin against his ear-drums. He coughed, forcing a breath through his nose, ignoring the citrus smell of Hermione's hair and quickly scanned the list of blokes for his name. It wasn't there.

Draco clenched his fists and took another breath. Merlin, she smelt delicious. Like an orange creamsicle, the kind his mother gave him as a child.

"It's a list of potential dates," she hummed, scanning the list. "I've crossed off the wizards who are no longer single and the ones whom I've already dated."

Draco's chest tightened, willing an air of casualness to his voice. "I can't help but notice my name is somehow absent from your precious list, Granger." He laid a hand over his heart and coaxed a smirk to his mouth. "Shocking, considering I'm the most eligible bachelor in Britain."

Hermione had the decency to blush a fetching shade of strawberry and twirl her hair a bit more forcefully. "We would murder each other over the hors d'oeuvres. There would be blood everywhere, the ministry would be outraged and Rita Skeeter would be thrilled. I'd hate to give her the satisfaction of a Daily Prophet headliner."

Draco held her gaze. Her eyes were the color of crushed tea leaves. "Bollocks."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then quickly shot back, "Are you offering to escort me, Malfoy?"

"Well, I do owe you for taking the lead on the dragon egg case last week whilst I was sick."

She titled her head. "Is that a yes?"

"Consider it a payment of services rendered. Malfoys always repay their debts."

Hermione arched a brow.

"Yes," he amended. "I'll escort you to the gala."

To Draco's great relief, Hermione pointed her wand to the sprawling list of suitors and sent it flying back into her desk drawer. "Pick me up by eight o'clock."

* * *

At 7:56pm on New Year's Eve, Draco Malfoy stepped out of Hermione Granger's fireplace, brushing residual particles of ash from the shoulder of his charcoal grey suit jacket and absentmindedly checking the single button at his waist.

"You're early!" Hermione squeaked, fliting about her living room collecting small items and placing them into a beaded clutch. His fingers stilled.

She wore an emerald green dress. His color. How many times had he fantasized of this exact moment?

Her hair was down, falling down the bare expanse of her back in smooth chestnut waves.

His blood heated.

The dress was made for her, for her body- the way the thin straps framed her back and joined with the smooth satin at the base of her spine, the way it cascaded over her backside, hugging her hips and leaving a small train trailing behind her. Merlin, he wished he was the floor beneath her, just so he could feel the fabric graze across his lips as she glided over him. He wanted to frame the damn thing over his mantelpiece and gaze upon it every night with a scotch in his hand. He made a mental note to track down the designer tomorrow morning and thank them personally.

"I need to feed Crookshanks! Just give me one minute." And then she was rushing from the room, leaving Draco catatonic by the fireplace.

A long moment passed and Draco blinked. He was standing in Hermione Granger's flat. After all these years, he was finally seeing the private sanctuary of the Golden Girl.

It was exactly as he had imagined it would be. Shelves lining the walls with books stacked high, colorful crocheted blankets strewn across plush couch cushions, an oak coffee table cluttered with empty tea mugs.

Draco peeled himself from his perch and moved toward the bookshelves. He grazed a finger over the titles. It never failed to leave him in awe: her ability to consume knowledge as easily as oxygen, her thirst for it. His finger touched the spine of a title he recognized: she had come rushing into work one morning over the summer, purple circles under her bright eyes and her hair a frizzy mess, chattering about the ending of a novel she had just finished that morning. No doubt she had stayed up all night reading it. He smiled at the thought.

A sudden thought, sharp and unrelenting, tore through his mind: he shouldn't be here. He should have never suggested it. What made him think he could escort Granger to a bloody gala? He was a fucking fool.

"Don't look so tense, Draco. It's not like I'm taking you to meet my gran. This isn't a date." She was standing before the mantle, dipping her hand into a ceramic bowl painted with tiny blue flowers. Pretending that she didn't look like a goddess from heaven above.

He took a deep breath. Right. This wasn't a date.

He shook any lingering thoughts from his head and prowled toward her.

"Does this mean you're not going to be my New Year's kiss?" he drawled. She responded with a slap on his arm and pulled him into the fireplace beside her. "Don't worry, I'll have you home just after midnight," she palmed the floo powder. "That way you'll have time to go find one of those department secretaries who chase you around all week."

Before he could reply, Hermione called their destination and flung the powder at their feet, engulfing them in flames.

Plumes of smoke announced their arrival as Draco and Hermione were shepherded out of the fireplace by an older gentleman in a waistcoat. "Hurry hurry," the man grumbled, clapping his hand on Draco's shoulder. He moved out of the way as the fireplace roared to life behind them, announcing the arrival of more guests.

They were in an antechamber, the walls decorated with crawling vines of flecked gold, a crystal chandelier illuminating the space around them. Dozens of fireplaces lined the room, each with a hired hand standing sentinel to usher the scores of incoming guests to the adjoining ballroom.

Draco looked down at Hermione, who was tugging at a strand of hair while scanning the crowd of people.

"Nervous?" he asked even though he knew the answer. At the rate she twisted and pulled at her curls when she was worked up about something, the woman would be bald by the time she turned thirty. And she would still be hypotonic.

Hermione looked up at him with raised brows. "I need a drink."

He laughed, offering her his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"

With a quirk of her lips, Hermione accepted, lightly wrapping her fingers around his elbow. Draco swallowed, his eyes flickering to the pale pink fingernails resting against his jacket. With a flick of his wrist, he adjusted the lapel of his jacket, earning a giggle from Hermione, her hand falling from her hair.

They moved through the entryway, pushed along by the eager crowd, to a set of wide oak doors leading into the ballroom.

Hermione sucked in a breath.

The room was spectacular. The ceiling was enchanted in a design reminiscent of the Great Hall: above them looked a cloudless night sky. Small, twinkling lights floated above their heads, bouncing along to the soft melody of a string quartet positioned at the center of a grand stage opposite the entrance. The platform stood before a wall made entirely of glass, displaying the roaring ocean and luminous stars beyond the mansion. The space was so large and the sky so great, it gave the illusion that they weren't in a room at all, but rather tumbling into a starry night.

Hermione's dress skated across the glittering floor beneath them.

Draco caught sight of a waitress carving a path in front of them, balancing a tray of crystal flutes as she wove her way between guests. Draco intercepted her route.

"May I?" He asked, plucking two glasses from the silver plate and offering one to Hermione.

"Champagne?"

"Merlin, yes," Hermione replied, snagging it from his hand. The woman failed to mask the look of horror from her face as she retreated back into the crowd.

"Cheers," he laughed, tipping the bubbly down his throat. Hermione's reply was muffled as she took a large gulp.

"Haven't you done a million of these things over the years? Are you always this nervous before hand?"

"I'm not nervous," she replied, avoiding his eyes as she took another sip of her drink. A waiter passed with a tray of scallops and her face twisted into a look of revulsion. "You know what I'm craving?" A dramatic shiver raked her body as she looked longingly into the distance. "A stack of pancakes drenched in lemon and sugar."

An image of them together in his bed sent a surge of heat roiling through his blood. Dripping syrup over her bare breasts, licking the sweetness off her.

"Sounds delicious." He took a long pull of champagne emptying the flute.

"Come on," she said, plucking another glass of champagne from a passing waiter as she pulled him into the crowd. "Time to mingle."

* * *

Nearly an hour passed and despite her complaints about Ministry functions, Hermione moved through the crowd with ease, fixing a smile on her face and shaking hands with all who approached her. She was a celebrity and the people fawned over her, laying their hands on her as though she were bloody Mother Theresa, herself.

She amazed him: her selflessness, the way she put her needs aside to listen to these people, discuss topics he knew bore her. Meanwhile, Draco followed her, making polite conversation and responding when needed. But mostly, he watched her.

And when photographers asked for a photograph of the Brightest Witch of her Age and her date, Hermione turned her large doe-eyes to Draco and flashed him an apologetic- yet amused- smirk.

And if Hermione sensed his sudden flare of anxiety at what it would mean for her to be seen with him not only at a work place event, but splashed all over the Daily Prophet, she didn't show it. So, he posed beside her, his hand lingering at the small of her back.

When the string quartet began to play a jaunty tune, luring a hoard of witches and wizards to the dance floor, Draco nicked a plate of almond tarts and he and Hermione found a quiet corner to sit. As they shared the pastries, they whispered about Judy from the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes and her date: Hermione thought he looked like a movie star from some popular Muggle soap opera. When Draco had stared blankly at her, reminding her he had grown up in a wizarding family and to him soap opera meant operatic singing in a bathtub, she had laughed. Then rushed to explain the intricacies of day-time television to him. She was in the midst of explaining common character tropes- something about a long lost twin sister in a coma- when their discussion was interrupted by a squeal and tumble of red-hair and blue lace.

"Ginny!" Hermione yelped, wrapping her arms around the youngest of the Weasely litter.

"I've been looking for you all night!" The girl squeaked, her ears pink. "You look incredible. Holy mother of Merlin," she gave a low whistle. "I heard you're here with Mal-" Ginny's lively eyes bounced onto Malfoy. The green depths flashed with recognition. "So, it's true."

"Ginny," Hermione hissed.

"What? I didn't know you were trying to make a statement."

Draco felt patches of pink bloom on his cheeks. He turned the other way, pretending to look for a person in the crowd. On second thought, why pretend, he must know someone at the event. Right? There must be a former Death Eater lingering in the shadows. Perhaps at the bar? He moved to leave.

Hermione's fingers slipped back into place at his elbow, rooting him beside her. She looked up at him.

Damn those toffee eyes. He couldn't abandon her. He was her companion for the night. He owed her. For covering for him when he was sick. Right.

Ginny mumbled something about Harry shitting himself or some rubbish then flung her hands into the air. "Ok, hurry up and follow me. The Minster is looking for you, Hermione. He's already snagged Ron and Harry."

Draco placed the tray of almond tarts down on an empty table, Hermione looking forlornly back at them, as Ginny lead them toward a small dais near the edge of the crowd.

He braced himself as they approached a small group of people. There stood Harry Potter, who looked as though he had hurriedly dressed himself in the dark after a tumble in the sheets and his side-kick, the blast-ended skrewt of an ass, Ronald Weasley.

Beside them stood Minister Norman Harris, a balding man with a graying beard and thick neck. After Kingsley Shacklebolt had declined the position and then a handful of other respected witches and wizards also shied away, Norman Harris had been elected for the role. Draco always believed this was in part due to Norman's neutrality during the Great War, but also because the Ministry council had clearly been out of all other options. He couldn't imagine the Ministry _wanting_ a drunkard coward as Minister.

But then again, they had chosen Fudge.

Harris now stood with a tumbler of firewhiskey in his hand, his cheeks ruddy from too much drink, his arm thrown across Ron's shoulder, yammering on about some new tax bill. Weasley looked visibly uncomfortable. Draco suppressed a grin.

"'Mione!" Harry called, peeling from the group to wrap her in a hug.

Draco took a step back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

It wasn't that he didn't like Potter. If he were being honest with himself, he begrudgingly respected the fool. Even with his poor sense of style and awful hair. He had defeated the Dark Lord, after all.

The sickening sensation crawling over Draco's skin wasn't hatred, it was shame. Even after all these years, Draco couldn't forget the child he had once been, the cruelty and jealousy that had manifested and bubbled within him that had been directed towards Potter.

When that pair of piercing green eyes turned to him, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his head.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

Draco didn't miss the side-long glance Harry threw Hermione's way. She gave a slight shrug in return.

Ginny took her place beside Harry, wrapping her arm through his and flashing a flashy diamond ring. It wasn't a Malfoy heirloom, but it didn't look like a Weasley hand-me-down, either. So, Potter wasn't a complete tasteless fool, after all.

"So, how's the wedding planning going?" Hermione asked the pair.

Harry grimaced as Ginny let out an exasperated sigh. "Mum has completely hijacked the whole thing. I'm lucky if she shows me anything!"

"At least she sent us a save-the-date, so we know when to show up," Harry laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to Ginny's temple.

There was a lull in the conversation behind them, Harris having ended his monologue.

"Miss Hermione Granger, is that you?" Harris bellowed. "Come on over here, girl!"

Hermione looked as though she wanted to run: their shared dislike of the Minister was a common topic they ranted about over lunch.

His policies were bogus, his approval ratings low and foreign Ministers refused to work with him. He was also blatantly upfront on his distaste of all former followers of Voldemort, making it difficult for ex-Death Eaters- who weren't currently serving in Azkaban- to find employment post-War.

Hermione loosed a sigh and moved to join the Minister. Ron's girlfriend, Padma Patil, dressed in a jeweled sari the color of dried lavender, had also joined the group.

She was positively glowing as she smiled up at him. Draco held in a gag. While Potter had redeeming qualities, Ron was a complete fucking simpleton. Overlooking his simple nature and other glaring flaws, he had also let the most breathtaking, gifted woman slip through his fingers. Idiot.

"Hello, Minister." Hermione said, taking her place beside the lovebirds. Draco took his place beside her, Harry and Ginny settling beside him.

"You are a vision, darling," the Minister sang. Pervert. Draco was surprised he didn't lean over to kiss her on both cheeks. Couldn't the Ministry afford a baby-sitter for their leader? Who was monitoring this simpleton's alcohol intake?

Harris' eyes slid to Draco. Draco tensed, bracing himself.

"Mr. Malfoy. Glad you could make it." He sounded anything but glad. Rather, it sounded like he had swallowed a handful of broken glass.

A waiter passed by with calamari and Draco grabbed for a serving. "Well, Minister Harris, my mother always told me never to turn down free food or drink." He popped a bit of the fried goodness in his mouth. With a groan, Padma clutched at her stomach, ashen-faced.

"Excuse me," she gasped, running from the group. Ron threw Draco a glare. Apparently, she didn't like fish. Noted. He tossed another bite in his mouth. Ron flushed, his glare intensifying.

"I'm going to go check on her," he snapped.

Wonderful, Draco's maniacal plan was working, Hermione's dull friends were dropping like flies.

He turned to offer a piece to Granger and found her staring stone-faced at Harris.

"Do you have a problem with who I choose to associate with, Minister?" Hermione asked, each word dripping with accusation, eyes fixed on Harris. Gods, she was rallying for a fight.

"Erm," the Minister spluttered.

Draco tried- and failed- to catch Hermione's eye. Not here, he wanted to plead. Not in front of Potter. Not for him.

"Well," Harris continued, fumbling for words. "I admire your ability to move on from-" his gaze flickered to Draco. "Past grievances."

Draco fought the sudden urge to scratch at the black stain on his arm.

Hermione tensed beside him. When she spoke, her voice crackled with rising rage. "I am unaware of the grievances you are referring to, Minister. One could argue that Draco Malfoy was one of the reasons Harry was able to defeat Voldemort. What with him risking his life to deny Harry's identity, allowing us to escape Voldemort's clutches after we were captured, tortured and all."

Draco was caught between swelling with pride that Hermione Granger, crusader of the weak and defenseless, was protecting his honor. The other part of him- the viciously cruel and brutally honest part of him, the part that knew he was an Unforgivable- shriveled up in shame. She wouldn't have to do this for that prat, Matthias Spear. He should never had agreed to this, he was weak.

Harry looked extremely uncomfortable and ran his hand through his obscene bed-head. Seriously, did he own a comb? Ginny looked as though she had smelt something foul. The little Weasel seemed uncomfortable with the way Hermione was standing up for him.

That made two of them. Draco shifted on his feet.

The Minister had gone pale under Hermione's intense scrutiny. "And excuse me for my bluntness, Minister, but in the future, if you could keep your opinions to yourself, that would be brilliant. Especially considering I don't recall you being present during any of those 'dark times' you so frequently refer to. " She spat, her face contorted into a sneer. Damn, when had she perfected his signature look?

"Ok," Draco interrupted, pulling Hermione away from the speechless Minister for Magic, her hand slipping back into place on his arm. "Let's go find some food."

"You just ate."

"Yeah, well I'm suddenly ravenous. Humor me, would you?"

Hermione huffed beside him as he dragged her back into the crowd.

"He can't talk to you that way," she fumed.

"I appreciate your concern."

"I am concerned!" she shrieked. "Our government is plagued with bigots and idiots!"

Draco loosed a breath, stopping to look down at her. "Hermione. I'm a former Death Eater. The Darkest Wizard known to the Wizarding World lived in my family home. I was commissioned to kill the most beloved professor of all time. People aren't big fans of me, Granger. Are you seriously just now noticing this?"

She blinked. "You aren't your past, Draco."

He desperately needed to change the topic.

"Remind me to hire you as a body guard next time I find myself in need of protection. I've never seen someone so vicious. Poor Norman looked like he was going to wet himself."

Hermione glared up at him, her lips stretched tight.

Draco smirked. "You were practically foaming at the mouth."

She rolled her eyes. Salazaar, he loved her when she was like this. Crackling with unbridled fire.

A cloud of perfume wafted toward them as a hand grazed Draco's lower back. "Look who finally decided to attend a Ministry function," a voice purred. Daphne Greengrass, her voice low and sultry, lashes heavy with layers of clumped mascara, appeared like an apparition of the ghost of Nightmares Past. His nostrils burned with stench of her perfume. A collar of diamonds lined her pale throat and a single strand fell from her clavicle down to her plunging neckline and ended in a single

tear drop, nestled between her breasts.

"If I would have known you amended your boycott of government festivities, I would have asked you to be my date." Her fingers drew slow circles on his lower back.

Would it cause a scene if he hexed her?

Hermione's hand dropped from his elbow. He fought the urge to grab it and put it back on his body.

"I never said I wouldn't come to a Ministry event, Daph." The witch had plagued him since the seventh year, when he had made a drunken mistake and snogged her in the Slytherin common room. Chasing him for something he wasn't able to give her. He reigned in his annoyance- this was his fault after all and fumbled for a sense of control. First, the Minister. Now, this. He prayed Hermione would still talk to him at work next week.

"Well, you've never accepted any of my invitations," she said with a pout.

"Those are two completely different things."

There was only one person he would attend these vile productions with and she was currently standing stiffly beside him.

A dry cough followed by a hiccup reverberated along the walls of the ballroom, and Draco, along with the rest of the guests turned toward the stage. Minister Harris stood erect before the audience, his wand pressed to his neck and his hand covering his mouth as another hiccup escaped his throat. He chuckled, mumbling an apology.

Brilliant.

"Hello, honored guests. Welcome to the Ministry's Fifth Annual New Year's Eve extravaganza!" Harris slurred, arms spreading wide. He loses his balance, stumbling back a step.

Draco's eyes slid over to Hermione.

"He is a complete imbecile," she hissed, face flushed. "Doesn't he have a lackey? Someone should give him a sobering drought! He's an embarrassment."

"Well, you can hardly blame the poor fool," Draco drawled. "He must have chugged a bottle of firewhiskey after the number you pulled on him."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. He needs to grow a pair."

The Minister plowed on. "It has been five years since our world escaped the clutches of the Darkest Wizard known to wizarding kind. We are a nation of survivors, and as such, we look ahead to the many years of light and happiness that lay before us."

The crowd erupted in cheers and the cacophony of clinking champagne glasses. A waitress passed by, offering champagne. Hermione clutched her glass, knuckles white against the stem of her flute as her eyes tracked the commotion.

"That is why it is my great pleasure to introduce those who need no introduction, for they are the individuals whom we thank for our freedom today. I invite to the stage the Golden Trio!" Somehow another beverage had found its way into Harris' hand and he gestured into the crowd with it, sloshing its contents onto the stage.

"Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger! Please, join me!"

"That's my que." Hermione huffed.

And suddenly, the powerful woman he knew her to be seemed to falter, her magic flickering before him. With a blink, she straightened her spine, clenched her jaw, and walked toward the stage.

Draco reached out to her, but his hand dropped to his side before he could make contact.

"Good luck," he said instead. She turned back to him and inclined her head.

"And Granger," he tried. "Before this night is over, you'll have that stack of pancakes you so desperately want. I promise."

Her lips twitched. "And tea?"

"Right. Pancakes and tea."

"Black tea. Really strong, black tea."

"Anything you wish," he vowed, watching her as she strode toward the stage, a beam of jade light in a room at dusk.

Daphne slid back into place at Draco's side. She was like a viral infection: there wasn't an antidote strong enough to keep the witch away.

His eyes followed Granger's progression up to the stage where Harry and Ron were already standing. She looked so small beside Ron's tall, gangly frame. It made him want to stand by her side and shield her from these vultures.

A spotlight fell on their figures, casting long shadows across the oak platform where they stood. Hermione's jaw clenched in the brightness.

Someone had transfigured the cello into a wooden chair for the Minister. He sat fanning himself with a beefy hand, nodding vigorously for the trio to begin.

Harry lifted his eyebrows to Hermione, and with a nod from her, he cleared his throat and lifted his wand to his neck. He stumbles over his words- typical- but then stuck the speech with some meaningless shite about creating a bright future that causes the drones in the crowd to thunderously applause. The Boy Who Lived gave a crooked smile and tilted his head towards Hermione. It was her turn. She lifted her wand, placing it upon the creamy skin of her neck.

"Good evening, all." She looked lost on the stage, eyes wide and wandering, searching for something in the crowd.

Her eyes landed on his like an anchor, just as a cool hand crept up his abdomen and burrowed beneath his jacket, resting on his chest.

Draco stiffened and Hermione's eyes flashed, flying across the faceless crowd.

"I can't believe you came with that frizzy-haired monster." Daphne's breath hot against his ear.

Draco yanked her hand from his body. "Show some decorum, Daph," he growled. "This isn't a damn brothel."

He was missing Hermione's speech. What was she saying? Something about a blank page?

"- it is up to us to fill the blank pages of this year with the story we wish to tell." The scripted words fell flat from her mouth, lifeless.

She raised her glass. "Happy New Year."

The crowd roared and another flute was thrust into Draco's hands, he looked down at the tiny bubbles floating to its surface.

"You know I like the chase, Draco, but haven't you ever heard of bedside manner?" Daphne moved her golden locks over her shoulder, taking a sip from her glass.

Short of throwing a Killing Curse, Draco had no idea how to repel this insect.

Ronny-kins had taken the spotlight, grinning like an idiot. "Hiya, everyone!"

Hermione had her eyes fixed on the Weasel, her back straight.

"I have a feeling this New Year is going to be the best one yet. You see, my girlfriend, Padma," he gestured to the left of the stage where she was standing alone, smiling up at him. "Is expecting our first child."

Bloody hell. The fish, of course. Draco rolled his eyes.

The crowd erupted, cheering as they lifted their glasses. Ron's eyes glistened. "Padma, there is no one else I can imagine going through parenthood with. You have made me the happiest man in world. I wish everyone as could be as happy as you have made me."

Hermione's face froze. Ron raised his glass. "Happy New Year!"

Minister Harris returned to the center of the stage. "Let's begin the countdown, shall we? Ten…" The ballroom joined in, vibrating with the chorused echoes. Daphne leaned in and whispered in Draco's ear.

"I'm ready for my New Year's kiss," she whispered.

Draco's eyes searched for Hermione and found her, the skirt of her dress lifted in her hand as she made her way quickly off the stage.

"I'm sorry, Daphne" he said, shoving his champagne glass into her groping hand.

Daphne's cry of outrage was swallowed by the chants vibrating through the ballroom.

He peered into the crowd, searching for the emerald dress or her chestnut hair. There she was. He tracked her movements as she weaved her way toward a set of balcony doors.

" _Four…Three…"_ Draco pushed past the bodies surrounding him, the echoes setting his teeth on edge.

" _Two…One_!" The room filled with a kaleidoscope of colors – reds, greens, blues and golds- fireworks exploded across the enchanted ceiling above, effervescent sparks floating down like snow onto the heads of the kissing couples across the ballroom.

He shoved against the faceless bodies, growling in frustration. With a final push, he was ejected from the crowd, falling into the open space before the balcony doors.

Without a coherent thought, he shoved open the doors.

Hermione's back was to him. She jumped at the sound of his entrance, turning her face toward the light pouring from the room.

Her brows raised in surprise. "Draco."

Fireworks burst to life in the tears lingering within her eyes. A flush crept up her neck and she turned her face away from him, her hands moving to wipe at her cheeks.

"You didn't have to come out here," she choked. "I'm fine. You should get back to Daphne."

"I am not interested in going back to Daphne." He moved toward her, then stopped. "Honestly, I've spent the last five years trying to avoid her." He tugged his fingers through his hair. "Plus, her perfume is giving me a headache."

A laugh caught in her throat. "I think it's safe to say that I am officially the worst date ever."

"Good thing this isn't a date, then," Draco replied half-heartedly, his voice low.

Wordlessly, he pulled the doors shut behind him, blocking out the cheers of the sloshed and spirited witches and wizards celebrating the midnight hour.

"You know what I mean," she whispered. The muscles of her back shifted in the moonlight as she inhaled the cool air surrounding them.

Draco opened his jacket and pulled his wand out of an inner pocket; with a quick flick of his wrist, he cast a warming spell around the balcony and in a moment they were encased in a pocket of warmth.

The crescent moon's waning light cast a silver flush over the roaring sea below them, illuminating its raging battle against the rocky shore.

Draco moved through the space between them and leaned against the railing beside Hermione.

She kept her face turned from him, hidden in shadow, her hands moving up and down over her goosepimpled flesh.

Tucking his wand into a back pocket, Draco slipped out of his jacket and gently placed it over Hermione's shoulders.

When she turned to face him, Draco's chest tightened at the drops of silver clinging to her lashes.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"I can't bear the thought of you crying into the New Year, Granger," he said, his voice hoarse. "Especially over that weasel-snouted ginger snap."

A laugh escaped her and Draco's blood heated at the sound.

"What did you call him?"

"I don't know, I'm trying to be more original. It's one of my New Year's resolutions." He smirked. "New year, new me and all that rubbish."

Her lips twitch toward a smile and a longing ripped through Draco, stronger than any other: he wanted to make her smile again, a real smile. Something true.

"I'm not crying over Ron," Hermione murmured, looking across the sea. "I haven't shed a tear for him in years." She pulled Draco's jacket closer to her chest and took a breath through her nose. "It terrifies me. Time."

She chanced a glance at him before casting her eyes back to the waves. "We just keep moving along and the months keep passing and we keep celebrating each turn around the sun. And as more time passes, it's easier to forget what happened."

Her voice became thick with tears and the urge to touch her, comfort her, sears at Draco's fingertips.

She shivered, but he didn't know what else to do to make her warm.

His eyes traced the lift of her throat as she swallowed.

"I feel like I'm the only one who can't move on. While everyone else is thriving and making families and creating new memories, I'm stuck. Like part of me will forever be that frightened 17-year-old watching her friends and professors be murdered."

A shudder raked through her and her eyes briefly shuttered close.

"These things," a gesture toward the cheering and laughter humming through the glass doors, "make it worse. And maybe that makes me sour and petulant, but," her gaze found his and Draco stilled, barely breathing. "I hate being displayed like some beacon of hope when I was just a scared kid doing my best to keep me and my friends alive."

"I know the feeling," he breathed.

The words slipped from his mouth without conscious thought and they hang in the air before him. Draco recoiled in horror, taking a step back from the railing. No.

This wasn't about him. This was about her and making her warm again, making her smile.

Hermione's eyes flashed in the moonlight as she stared up at him.

He took another step back. "I-" _Should go._ Shouldn't he?

Indecision ripped through him like the breeze off the shoreline.

She opened her mouth to say something, her eyes wide and full of an emotion he couldn't place. Pity? Gods, please don't let it be pity.

"You worry that everyone's forgotten, Granger, but I haven't forgotten." His voice was gravel, a strewn of rocks between them. "I will never forget."

He swallowed. "How can I forget everything I've done? I don't deserve to be your friend, or colleague, or whatever we are." His hands gestured between them and he shoved them into his pockets. He wanted to turn away from her piercing gaze, but he couldn't.

She was the northern star, and he was a sailor lost at sea.

"I think about it every day. I think about _them_ every day – Crabbe and Tonks and Lupin and Snape and everyone else. I think about Katie Bell." A pause. "I think about you," he breathed.

Hermione's lips parted, Draco felt the air she as it pulled into her lungs and wished he could follow it.

She was close, too close. When had she moved toward him?

His eyes dipped to her mouth before landing in her glowing eyes. "You may not want to be, but you are a beacon of hope, Hermione. And so much more. You are fierce, intelligent and kind. You find it in yourself to share the same space with me on a daily basis and have yet to throw an Avada my way."

"Give me some time," she whispered. His lips tugged toward a smile and Hermione's eyes tracked the movement.

Draco's fingers twitched with the need to touch her- to trace her brow, brush her jaw, graze her bottom lip. He clenched his hands into fists by his side. This was about her. And finally, finally, he had been given the opportunity to speak this small truth, no matter the consequences.

"You are full of life, Hermione Granger. You are full of hope and light and all the things that I am inherently lacking, both as a Slytherin and a Malfoy. I honestly don't know how you can stand to be near me."

The emerald dress shimmered like water on glass as she took another step closer to him.

Did she have any idea what she did to him- how she made him feel?

"Can I touch you?" The hairs on the back of his neck rose with her words.

He nodded, unable to speak.

She lifted her hands to his left arm, fingers steady as she unbuttoned the cuff links at his wrist, pushing the sleeve up his forearm and exposing the dark ink of his Mark.

Draco stilled. Her cool fingers trace the stark black outline.

"All I want is be near you, Draco." Her eyes find his and his heart stutters. "I always want to be near you." She rests her palm over the mark, a warm glow spreading from her flesh and seeping into his skin. "You're the first person I want to talk to after I've read a good book. You make me laugh. You make me feel safe. And you bring me blueberry muffins." She hesitates, then with a smirk: "You're also quite pretty."

Draco couldn't find it in himself to laugh. This must be a dream. Or a nightmare. She was sure to slip her wand from her purse and point it to his chest.

Hermione dragged her hand from his forearm and placed it over his racing heart. "I like you, Draco. Not in spite of all that has happened, but because of it. I like you because of who you are today, right now. After everything," her fingers curled into his jacket. "We made it here. To this moment."

Her lips parted and his body ached with the need to kiss her. Breathe her. Taste her.

"I'm not worthy of you, Granger." A confession, torn from his lips.

"Bollocks." His heart clenched and suddenly, she was on her tiptoes, her beautiful face lifting towards his mouth.

He stared down at her.

"I want to kiss you, Draco Malfoy."

And then her face was between his hands and he leaned down to meet her waiting lips.

He caught her mouth with his own and kissed her with a hunger that scared him. She opened her mouth in response, lacing her fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer, matching his craving with her own starvation.

His hand slipped from her face down to her slender neck, cradling her as he tilted her head back, opening her to him. He dragged his other hand down the bare expanse of her back, fingers cupping her ass. A moan escaped her lips and he pulled her to him, pressing their bodies closer.

It wasn't close enough.

She moved against him, rubbing herself against his body.

He groaned, pulling back to look at her. It was like pulling away from the his only source of oxygen.

He rested his forehead against hers, sharing her breath as he brushed his thumb against her swollen lip.

"What now?" she whispered.

"Well," he draws the letters out, eyes still on her mouth. "I did make you a promise earlier." Her eyes ignited, her mouth twitching beneath his touch. "And a Malfoy always keeps his promise."

* * *

Later, after the sun had risen and their plates lay empty and forgotten beside wedges of lemon and a pot of lukewarm tea, Draco traced his finger over Hermione's brow bone down to her lips.

Although the dress didn't end up on the mantle above his fireplace, it lay prettily on the oak floors of Draco's bedroom and he thought that was an adequate compromise.

The sun peaked through the drapes and Hermione stretched, nestling her bare breasts to his torso.

She looked up at him sleepily, her thick lashes fluttering along her flushed cheeks.

"You never told me your new year's resolution," she murmured, pressing her lips against his chest.

"Honestly?" His fingers tangled in her curls and she purred, burrowing into him.

He gazed down at her, hand stilling in her hair. "My resolution is to get you to incinerate that list of dateable blokes sitting casually in your desk."

Her laugh vibrated through his body.

"I think I can do that," she smiled. A brilliant smile that battled the rising sun in its brightness.

Draco pulled her closer.


End file.
